How To Speak Spanish Without Even Trying
by Charlie Merrit
Summary: My stupid  but hopefully amusing  little one-shot idea. The explanation for Freddie's random Spanish outbursts accidentally comes to light when Sam is deprived of her beloved Fat Shakes.


At first, it was an ordinary afternoon at the Shays. Carly and Spencer were busy preparing dinner while Sam sat at the counter, clicking angrily at the mouse and grumbling to herself under her breath.

"Sam, you can look all over the 'Net," Carly said, "but it won't change anything."

"It's not fair, Carls," she shook her head. "It's just not fair."

"I know, sweetie, but you have to accept the fact that Fat Shakes have been discontinued."

"Didn't the report say something about them having a 'dangerously high sugar content?'" Spencer chipped in.

"Oh, yeah," Carly said. "I think they tested flammable."

"Stupid diabetics," Sam griped. "A few losers slip into comas and I have to go without my favorite snack-slash-drink. It's not MY fault your pancreas doesn't work!"

Freddie poked his head around the apartment door. "_Hola, chicos!_"*

Sam, even more irritated than usual, turned her chair towards him. "That wasn't funny the first time, Fredsack, and it's not funny now."

He closed the door behind him. "What's not funny?"

"The random Spanish bit," she snapped. "It's getting real old."

"Sam," Carly protested in the same tone as always.

Freddie paused, a confused squint on his face. "What 'random Spanish bit?'"

"Don't play dumb, nubwit," Sam paused. "Well,...dumber. That thing you do when you start speaking Spanish for no good reason."

"What are you talking about, Sam?" he laughed. "I don't speak Spanish."

Carly looked up from setting the kitchen table, her baffled frown matching his. "Yes, you do."

"Carly, aside from 'Hasta la vista, baby' and reading the menu at Taco Bill's, I don't speak Spanish," Freddie said. "I take French, remember?"

"I know, but..." she paused. "Freddie, you've been speaking random Spanish for years."

"Get out," he answered disbelievingly.

"It's true, Freddo," Spencer chimed in. "Amigos, chicalatas, pantalones...we learned all those words from you."

Freddie threw his arms up in exasperation. "_Ai, bueno dolor_."

"There!" Carly pointed. "See?"

"What? I said 'Good grief.'"

Spencer and Carly walked into the living room, exchanging puzzled looks with Sam before they all turned to stare at him.

"...What?" he asked, and they knew he was genuinely baffled.

"You said it in Spanish," Spencer told him.

Freddie narrowed his eyes, smirked and pointed at them. "You guys are messin' with me, right? Are you recording this?" He looked around for the hidden camera.

"Dude, did you hit your head on the sink or something?" Sam snapped.

"Sam," Carly said. "Look up the fanwar at Webicon."

She turned to the computer and looked up some fan-filmed clips from the panel they did, one in particular of the crowd getting ugly. Well,...uglier. The onscreen Freddie lost his patience and grabbed the mic'.

"_STOP IIIIIIT!" he yelled, and then as the crowd went quiet, he spoke in exasperation, "Por fin!"_

Sam stopped the clip, and they all turned back to Freddie, who was considerably paler than before. "I-I remember that. I yelled at them to stop and when they were quiet, I said...I said 'Finally.' Oh, my..."

"Freddie, calm down,..." Carly began.

"What do you _mean_, calm down?" he said, checking his neck-pulse. "Why in the world should I calm down? I find out I've been speaking a language I don't know without knowing it and you're telling me to calm down! I could have like-like a clot or a-a brain parasite or something! Why didn't you tell me?"

"We just thought it was your thing," Spencer shrugged. "Kinda like how Gibby always takes his shirt off."

"Gibby doesn't _black__out_ when he takes his shirt off!"

"Wish _I_ did," Sam shuddered.

"Sam!" Carly snapped.

Mrs Benson chose that exact moment to enter the apartment. "Sorry to barge in, but Freddie, you forgot your pasta goggles."

"Mom," he said as he turned to her. "Don't freak out, OK?"

"What? What's the matter? What happened? Do you have a temperature? Did you get bitten?" She stared at Carly, wild-eyed. "WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY BABY?"

Carly jumped back. "Nothing, I-I..."

"Mom!" He grabbed her by the shoulders. "I think there's something wrong with my brain."

"Runs in the family."

"Sam!" Carly snapped.

"The girls just told me," Freddie went on, "that without knowing it, I've been speaking random Spanish phrases for years."

And then, something unexpected happened; Marissa sighed with relief and her shoulders dropped. "Oh, _that_."

"You know about this?" he asked.

"Oh, yes, it's nothing to worry about. The doctor told me it'd be a possible side effect before he put in the ch..." Marissa slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide.

Spencer stared at her, cogs turning in his own brain as it clicked. His eyes widened and he pointed at Marissa urgently. "Oh..._Ohhh!_"

Freddie spun back to Spencer. "What?"

A silent conversation passed between the two grown-ups as the boy's look ping-ponged between them.

"You have to tell him," Spencer finally said.

"Tell me what?" Freddie interrupted. "What's going on here?"

"OK...sweetie?" Marissa said. "Just understand that whatever I did, I did because I'm your mother, and a mother's love is..."

"What did you do, Mom?" He folded his arms and frowned at her.

She cleared her throat and began. "Do you remember when we went to Japan, and you and your little friends got stranded?"

"When we got dumped in the middle of nowhere by our sneaky rivals, yeah," he nodded.

"Well, we weren't..."

Spencer harrumphed as if to say 'nothing to do with me.'

"_I_ wasn't..." Marissa amended, "..._entirely_ honest about how we found you." She opened her handbag and took out a small black device which Freddie recognised.

"A GPS tracker?" he said. "This is how you found us?"

She nodded, booting up the device and after a few moments, it locked onto a signal.

"That's this address," Freddie said, puzzled. "Where's the signal coming from?"

His mother stared at him sheepishly for a moment, her gaze wandering above his hairline to the top of his head, and Freddie finally clicked as he heard the lagging echo of the beeping device.

"Oh, you didn't," he said. "_Madre de dios!**_ You put a tracking chip in my _head_?"

There was a brief pause, suddenly broken by the sound of gut-laughing.

"Sam, this is not funny!" Freddie scolded.

"Well, if..." she giggled, trying to catch her breath and wiping tears from her eyes,, "...if it isn't, Benson, it's a dead ringer for it! Ohh, my achin' sides!"

Freddie turned back to his mother. "Where did you even find someone willing to implant a minor with a locator chip?"

"Remember our vacation to Venezuela?"

"A little," he said, then his eyes widened. "You told me that was a new cooties vaccination!"

"Honey," Marissa said soothingly. "I did it for you."

"This is messed up on SO many levels, Mom!"

"Well, look at the bright side..." Carly began.

"There's a bright side?" Freddie interrupted.

"I don't know, I was hoping _you_ might see it."

"Ooh, I know!" Spencer shot his hand up like a kindergarten toddler. "If it hadn't been for the chip, we could never have found you in time for the Webbies! Yeah!" He pumped his fist like a game show contestant.

"You knew about this?" Freddie rounded on Spencer furiously.

"Uhhh,...sort of?" he said, almost asked sheepishly. "Your mom told me in Japan when we were looking for you all."

"And you didn't tell me," the boy stated.

"What was I supposed to say?" Spencer shrugged. "'Hey kid, your noggin has its own satellite uplink?'"

"Can he get free cable?"

"Sam!" Carly snapped.

"What? I'm just sayin'," she shrugged. "This might be the only cool thing about Fredborg."

"That settles it!" Freddie snapped. "I want this thing out of my head... _ahora_ _mismo_!"***

"You can't," Spencer said.

"Why not?"

"Well, I'm guessing the authorities frown on mothers who cross the South American border to have unlicensed doctors perform illegal surgical procedures on their underage children. That chip gets removed, the doctor reports it and your mother goes to jail. Is that what you want?"

Freddie pondered for a moment, then sighed. "No. I guess not."

"I'm sorry, honey," Marissa said.

"Mom..." he stuttered, furious beyond words. "I've put up with the disinfectant and the tick baths and the cloudblock and the vaccinations for everything from measles to yellow fever, but this...this is just...so far beyond the line. I don't even know what to say right now except 'Are you out of your freakin' MIND?'"

"Here," she said, handing over the tracking device. "You keep it."

"I don't want it."

"No, you should have it..."

"That's not the point.."

They passed the device back and forth for a few seconds until Sam lost her patience. She barged between them, grabbing the box and pitching it into Spencer's baffled hands.

"Sam, what are you doing?" he asked as he fiddled with the buttons. "I don't want it. I wouldn't know wAAAAAAHHH!"

As the device suddenly burst into flames, Spencer panicked and dropped it to the floor where Sam's boot came down on it, stamping out the small fire with a satisfying crunch and a shower of sparks.

"There," Sam said, dusting her hands. "Case closed. Can we eat now?"

"I never thought I'd say this, but 'Good thinking, Sam,'" Freddie nodded. "And let us never speak of this again."

They gathered around the table and sat down to eat.

"So, Freddinator," Sam broke the silence. "Have you found Sarah Connor yet?"

"Shut up, Sam."

"Freddie Benson. Part man. Part machine. All nub."

He sighed, thinking 'I'm never going to hear the end of this.'

"_Ai caramba_."****

* * *

><p><em>*Hey, guys!<em>

_**Mother of God!_

_***... right now!_

_**** Dang it._


End file.
